


Who is This Stiles Stilinski?

by Vicwic



Series: Teen Wolf Remix [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Developing Friendships, FBI Intern Stiles Stilinski, Fix-It, M/M, Mentioned Lydia Martin, Mentioned Scott McCall, Mentioned Stiles stilinski/lydia martin, No Sex, POV Outsider, Pre-Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Season/Series 06, Sexual Tension, mentioned Derek Hale - Freeform, pre-Sterek - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:25:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicwic/pseuds/Vicwic
Summary: Ruben Martinez and Stiles have both arrived at the FBI Academy for the start of the Internship. Ruben is dark and well-muscled with a five o'clock shadow; similar to a certain Hale perhaps...He and Stiles get talking; for a reason impossible to guess Stiles gravitates towards him. Ruben is intrigued and attracted. This boy has secrets. Just who is Stiles Stilinski?I was watching the first episode of 6b and I couldn't work out the timelines. I got so confused. When did Scott get the phone message? If he got it right at the beginning why didn't he play it before? If he'd got it earlier, surely Stiles would have rung them and told them about Derek? If he got it shortly before he played it, that would mean a whole lot of stuff had happened after Stiles left but before he started the course so WHERE HAD STILES BEEN!!!! It was all becoming too much so I thought I'd better just write something to give a sort of answer.This leads up to the sighting of Derek in the video in ep 6.11. There will be a sequel but after Jeff Davis has finished with Derek and Stiles completely for Season 6.





	Who is This Stiles Stilinski?

The music got louder, the beat more insistent. The boy leaped onto the stage next to the microphone. He was lithe and strong and, with a sinuous grace, reached back down to pull up the black girl on the floor in front, so they were both dancing on the stage together. They were laughing. The boy threw his head back, his neck was pale and slender, and his hair was ruffled as if he’d run his hands through. He turned and saw Ruben watching, and he opened his mouth, saying something Ruben couldn’t quite catch and smiling.  Ruben took an involuntary step forward, and the boy was turning again with a shimmy of his shoulders; hips undulating, eyes laughing, and Ruben couldn’t look away.

 

Ruben Martinez had first noticed the boy at general registration, not long after they both arrived at Quantico though he wasn’t really a boy, more of a young man; he looked to be about eighteen only a few years younger than Ruben. Not that it was that easy to tell. Ruben knew he looked older than he was with his thick dark hair, stubble (keeping clean shaven was a constant battle) and the muscled build of a man that took pride in keeping fit. He’d never thought it a bad thing though; it gave him respect walking the beat on the New York streets, streets now far away from Stafford County, Virginia. As the foyer filled with students waiting to register and visitors to the FBI Academy, to his surprise the boy gravitated over to him, introduced himself and started talking. He said his name was Stiles and said that wasn’t his real name, that was unpronounceable, but Stiles was fine; everyone called him Stiles. His eyes were caramel brown, and he kept moistening his lips as he talked. Ruben found him immediately attractive. He tried not to frown and deter him; send him away to speak to someone else in another part of the room.

Ruben knew he could come across as taciturn and said so straight off as an apology. The boy, Stiles, seemed undaunted and laughed at him and told Ruben that he reminded him of someone back home. But as Stiles talked, and he did talk, Ruben sensed a tension about him, a slightly manic air as the words poured out. He told Ruben about his father, the town Sheriff, he talked about his girlfriend; damn, thought Ruben, his best friend Scott who he’d miss forever and how he was glad to leave and ‘get out of Hell City’ as he referred to his home again and again. Ruben tried but couldn’t quite work out why he called it that and seemed so glad to get away but he supposed small towns could be dull.

It was three weeks before the Internship officially began. Ruben had wanted to get settled in early and escape the stifling heat of the New York summer. He wasn’t sure why Stiles was there. He said something about having to meet someone in Washington; his friend’s father, Ruben gathered and then deciding he might as well head to Virginia and scope out the Academy and get himself ready for the course start.

A few others for their particular course had arrived early as well.  After that first day, they ended up hanging out as a group, but Ruben made sure to spend time with Stiles. Stiles intrigued him beyond Ruben’s initial interest. He couldn’t quite ‘get’ him. During the time they spent together, there was still a feeling that Stiles was just holding back in some way; that at any moment he might unravel and his slender frame - oh how Ruben would have liked to run his hands down along those sides and feel that body twist beneath his fingers - explode apart.  At one moment he seemed to be a typical recent High School graduate, full of ambition and excitement about the future; the next his face would darken and he’d allude to events and people that Ruben felt troubled him. He made nervous gestures with his hands and bit at his nails. He’d laugh but then a moment later he’d be clenching his fists or pressing down with a pencil, snapping the point in half.

But gradually he seemed to lighten, and those times occurred less often. Ruben thought he should take some credit for that. He encouraged Stiles to throw himself into the groups and activities taking place. Although a girlfriend removed Stiles as a prospect for sex Ruben enjoyed his company; not that Ruben was looking for anything, of course, but a romance far away from the interference and marital ambitions of his mother and his grandmother would be nice. They went to bars and diners, not many in Stafford City but those there were decent enough. Ruben told Stiles about his experiences in the NYPD, and Stiles listened wide-eyed. He told Stiles he was gay. He’d decided he wasn’t going to hide it in the FBI and would be open from the get-go. Stiles just nodded and continued talking. They caught the train into Washington DC and went on a tour of the White House. They took a look around George Washington University where Stiles would be starting his degree in a few weeks; running in parallel with the final 4 months of the Internship which theoretically would complement it. It was a new initiative between the FBI and the universities, they were the guinea pigs. Ruben thought it was the main reason he’d been accepted; a working-class Hispanic cop from Brooklyn wouldn’t have got a look in otherwise. They jogged and went for cold drinks afterward, and Stiles would ramble on about all and everything. Ruben enjoyed looking at him, listening as he talked; waving his hands and flicking his long slim fingers to emphasize points. From time to time in the evenings Ruben would catch Stiles out on his own, standing and gazing out at the Virginian landscape, smiling slightly to himself. He never said what he was thinking of and Ruben couldn’t guess.

 

The start of the course neared, and the number of people around increased. Stiles made more friends. There was Oliver, blond, neat and precise from Utah. Both his father and his grandfather had been FBI; Oliver was carrying on the family tradition. He was likable but serious, the straight man to Stiles’ increasing brightness and lightness of mood. Aria was one of the few African Americans on the course; even as a woman she was in the minority at Quantico. Aria liked to wear her hair straight and pulled tightly back and was rarely distracted. Her family was from Seattle and were mostly doctors. The four of them stayed together and went dancing and visited a small karaoke bar which became their favorite place to go. Ruben and Oliver held back there, but Stiles and Aria were monsters.

Stiles talked of Lydia, his girlfriend back in Beacon Hills, but in a way that someone might refer to a character in a book or a television series that they’d watched, Ruben thought. Ruben picked up that Stiles had loved her for a long time and thought she was amazing but Ruben didn’t feel a passion there. There was something unreal about it, a going through the motions. Ruben thought Stiles had spoken with her a couple of times but no more since he’d arrived. That might be significant though it was hard to tell. Once training started it was expected that students wouldn’t be doing much else outside of that; even contact with friends and family was discouraged as a distraction. Stiles could’ve been getting into it early.

But Ruben began to wonder. He wasn’t sure but he started to think he might be receiving signals from Stiles as time went on. Once, he was handing over a bowl of unhealthy snacks ready for a lazy and indulgent evening watching television in the common room. Their fingers had touched, and Stiles had frozen and flushed. He caught Stiles staring in the gym when he turned back from lifting weights. After jogging they sat, thighs touching and Stiles hadn’t moved away. But Ruben didn’t have much time for confused, or curious, straight boys no matter how desirable and so left well alone.

 

It was the day of the Induction. Tomorrow the course would be starting proper. Today was the first time the students would be entering the Academy as FBI interns; future Agents. They had to dress smartly, white shirts; with ties and dress trousers for the men, the women in plain work skirts. Stiles was excited. He’d spent the morning buzzing at Ruben, and Ruben had drunk him in; the fleeting expressions chasing across his face, the way his eyes danced, his smile. This was a big day for him, Stiles said. The first time he really felt he was in the FBI.  In the melee of students outside the lecture hall, Ruben saw him draw away and pull out his phone. He’d scrunched his sleeves up, a habit he had but Ruben knew was discouraged; as an Agent, it was thought scruffy unless done just so which Stiles seldom did. Ruben approached to remind him and, as he neared, heard him leaving a message.

‘‘Hey, Scott, so I'm here. I'm in Quantico, Virginia at the FBI. I'm at the freaking FBI! It's real. I'm really here.” Stiles was talking excitedly into his phone then his voice leveled. “Look I kinda told Lydia that I miss her, and I can't wait to get home, but listen, Scott,” and his voice picked up again, “whatever you're doing right now just make sure you're still getting out of Beacon Hills. Maybe you think that, you know, the whole thing falls apart if you're not there, which I get, but you have to. I know you're supposed to drive out tonight, so if you don't call me back, just promise me that you're going. Just get in the Jeep and go.’ Stiles was still speaking with animation. He turned and saw Ruben listening and blushed as if he’d given something away.

He had. Ruben felt there was an urgency there that wasn’t normal.

“Er… that was a message. My friend Scott,” said Stiles weakly.

Ruben knew it was Scott. He decided not to pry; for the moment. He hadn’t missed the reference to Lydia either and thought it strange that she wasn’t the one that Stiles had called, that she was mentioned only as an aside almost. He felt the same distance there that he’d sensed in previous conversations. He nodded towards Stiles’ shirt sleeves. Stiles looked down, “Oh.” He hastily rolled them down.  Ruben reached to steer him back to the others, and for a moment Stiles leaned in to his hand.

 

That evening Ruben took a chance. The four of them were sitting in the lounge area. Aria and Oliver were reading course notes ready for the next day.  Stiles was playing patience. Ruben watched as he slapped the cards down and then hovered looking for what to place where next.

“There,” said Ruben pointing at a card.

“Oh yes, thanks,” said Stiles looking up and smiling and moving it over.

“Wait a minute,” said Ruben.

“Eh?” said Stiles.

Ruben reached forward and gently touched Stiles’ cheek, softly brushing at something and taking his time about it. “An eyelash,“  he said.

”Heh,” said Stiles reaching up to where Ruben’s finger had been and stopping. He blushed and their eyes met and held, just a trifle too long.

“When we met,” said Ruben softly, “You said I reminded you of someone back home. Who was it?” Ruben had guessed it wasn’t Scott. He kept his gaze level.

Stiles was silent for a moment. “A man,” he said eventually. “He left. I don’t know where. I doubt I’ll see him again.”

“Would you want to?”

Stiles shrugged, “I don’t know. I mean, I won’t so there’s not much point. He was…he…” Stiles’ voice trailed away.

“He meant something to you?”

Stiles shrugged again. “It doesn’t matter.” He looked up at Ruben. “I thought he might, he could, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Really. It’s nothing.”

Ruben kept his voice low, “You know I’m gay don’t you.” He raised his eyebrows quizzingly at Stiles.

Stiles let the sides of his mouth twitch, “Yes.”

“Well?” said Ruben and looked at him.

“Alright,” Stiles said. “You win. We went through a lot together, and I may have had a bit of a crush on him. A lot of a crush perhaps. In fact, I might even be sort of bi, and he might have been the one who made me sure.”

“What’s sort of bi?” Ruben’s lips quirked. “Bi at weekends, bi only at parties?”

“Okay, okay,” said Stiles rolling his eyes, “Bi all the time. I’m bi.”

“Hah,” said Ruben and left it at that. He lent back and gestured at the cards still on the table. “You can put the seven of clubs up there. That’ll let you put another card down.”

Stiles looked, grunted, moved the card up on top of the others and went to draw another from the pile.

 

Ruben sat, hiding a laugh. Across from him, Stiles had only been in the lecture a few minutes yet already the lecturer, as he went through the Course introduction, was starting to look shell-shocked, as Stiles fired off question after question his arm waving in the air to get attention. Yet again he’d scrunched up his shirt sleeves. He was impossible. Ruben could see Aria in front shaking her head. He half expected her to put her fingers in her ears.

The lecturer started playing a video and saying something about North Carolina. Ruben was half listening, playing with his pen until movement on the screen caught his attention and made him focus. On the video, a dark-haired man was running through a forest. He was muscular, shirtless, with a black spiral pattern tattooed on his back. Attractive, thought Ruben admiringly just as he heard a loud splutter and a commotion from across where Stiles was, and turning, saw him spitting a mouthful of water over the back of Aria’s head. Aria glared and sighed loudly.

The lecturer paused and looked at Stiles. The class stared. Stiles sat, his hand over his mouth, frozen and embarrassed, and hissed sorry at Aria who, no doubt, was already plotting vengeance.

“Is there a problem…young man?”

The lecturer stumbled over his name trying to read it from the register. It was near impossible to say. Stiles had spelled it out for Ruben, but he still had problems pronouncing it until Aria wrote it down for him phonetically.

Stiles stuttered an apology, “I just got excited,” he said but then continued leaning forward. ‘That guy up there, uh, what’s he wanted for?”

“Murder.” The lecturer looked grim.

“What kind of murder?”

“Mass murder.”

The class muttered and Stiles sat back in his chair.

In at the deep end, thought Ruben.

 

Afterwards Stiles and Ruben stood outside. 

“You need to have your sleeves down,” said Ruben. “Scruff. Come here.” He gently tugged down each sleeve and carefully fastened them, as Stiles stood and let him.  “What happened in there?”

Stiles shrugged. Then he changed his mind. “The man in the video. That was him. The man I knew back home. Derek.”

“They said he was a mass murderer,” said Ruben levelly. There was so much he needed to discover about this boy.

“Yes. I don’t believe it. Reasons.” Stiles looked at him. His eyes were fierce.

Ruben raised an eyebrow. “Then what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” said Stiles,” I really don’t know. But I’m going to do something.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I think showing them a live case might have been a mistake. I don't know. It's a new course.
> 
> The next installment will arrive sometime after the end of Season 6b. I've no idea what's going to happen in the show itself but this will end Sterek. Somehow. I'll rise to any challenge.
> 
> The rating will go up too (edit: it didn't)
> 
> By the way I now have a tumblr account at [craftydelusioncheesecake](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/craftydelusioncheesecake)


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